


Cookies at Breakfast

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky needs a hug, Cookies, Established Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious, Sam Needs A Hug, baking of, but only amongst themselves, clint gets all the hugs, otherwise they're coniving fiends, secret baker, steve gives all the hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: Sam grabs a gun from under the small table on his way, clears each room methodically before returning to the kitchen.So he isn't dreaming, there they are sitting on the counter.Cookies.He puts the gun down, removes the toothbrush from his mouth, and crosses his arms.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanouska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanouska/gifts), [Hrafnsvaengr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrafnsvaengr/gifts).



> Dedicated to Tanouska and Hraf. Thank you guys for the help with dragonslayer editing and proofing and everything.
> 
> A cookie for Kat: whenever I talk to you, my confidence gains 100 points. Also let's not forget Purple Lady and Sea Weed for putting up with my lament. And for everyone who read the first version of the dragonslayer story and let me know how much they enjoyed it!

With a pleased groan, Sam stretches under the comforter. He's had a good sleep, first one in many weeks, and he's determined to enjoy the hell out of it. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet.

Sam's been at the new Avengers facility for months, and he does have a room right there with the superheroes, but well—Sam likes his private time. It lets him unwind, process the nightmares, sleep it off. He needs it, that's why he's also requested housing in the makeshift town next to the facility. It's more like a military base really, but it has small one story houses in a minimalistic neighborhood that offers the illusion of civilization. There's even an icecream shop a street over. It's not too fancy as far as housing goes, but the staff likes it, it's not too far and not too close either. Besides, Sam feels safe here, under the protection of the state-of-the-art security system.

That's why he sleeps with his window open. That's why he thinks nothing of it when the smell reaches his nose; maybe a neighbor is cooking.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, while he walks from the bathroom to turn on the coffee maker with the brush dangling between his lips, that's when he realizes—

The smell is coming from inside.

Sam grabs a gun from under the small table on his way, clears each room methodically before returning to the kitchen.

So he isn't dreaming, there they are sitting on the counter.

Cookies.

He puts the gun down, removes the toothbrush from his mouth, and crosses his arms.

~

Everyone who knew Bucky Barnes in his youth would say, first and foremost, that he was the most polite, considerate man. Little did they know—

Bucky narrows his eyes as he watches Sam from the tree two houses over, through the recovered scope of a dismembered rifle. Ok, he retrieved it from Clint, but Clint doesn't seem to mind when Bucky borrows things, unless it's pizza. Or arrows. Or Steve. But that was one time, one, and since then he's developed the habit of knocking first. Not that Bucky needs Steve for anything involving naked dicks, but he digresses.

Here he comes. Bucky watches as Sam re-enters the kitchen, starts making his coffee and then puts the cookies with the entire plate in a ziplock bag.

He doesn't even touch them.

Bucky follows later, and discovers that the cookies are being tested in the lab at the facility. Ugh. Now he needs to bake another batch.

~

Sam scratches his cheek, then his forehead, then crosses his arms, uncrosses them—in the end, he decides to have the cookies tested again. This time, just like the last, there was nothing on the security tapes. Whoever is doing this can probably go around them and Sam has a too long list of suspects. From Vision to Rhodes, all the Avengers have their particular sets of skills that can make breaking into Sam's kitchen a walk in the park.

He spends some time watching his teammates as inconspicuously as possible, until Natasha notices and now she is observing him, too. That saying about the void staring back? This is a good example. He doubts whoever's doing this wants to be confronted, though, why else would they do it covertly?

So Sam resorts to checking security tapes and testing cookies, for over a week.

~

Bucky growls low in his throat as he watches Sam staring at the cookies.

"Come one, they're not poisoned," Bucky mutters to himself. "Just taste one."

His plan can't fail.

It's the perfect comeback prank, his way of celebrating the life he lost, and the new one he has now. The man he used to be, that guy that was Steve's friend, he is no longer. But the Bucky of now wants to remember him and what better way to do it than by doing what the Bucky of the past used to love? Memories come to him, when his sleep is—well, when his sleep is sleep and not vivid nightmares. He remembers some things, like the multitude of pranks he and Steve used to pull, both on each other and on others.

He shakes his head with a huff. They all think Steve's a saint—except Clint, apparently—and Bucky's some fetching fella with a nice smile. He's not that anymore. Besides, if they wanna know the 'real' Bucky, this is it. How did the internet call it? Ah yes. He's a little shit.

So, plan formed, now execution is somewhat delayed, but Bucky is patient. All Sam needs to do is eat the cookies, be amazed by their wonderful taste and texture, and then—then! Bucky can jump out and tell him 'hah.' He's petty, maybe, a little. But Sam hates him and Bucky must retaliate somehow. This won't lead to bloodshed, at least. It took him too long to learn how to make them, and he still can't get the wing shape right, but they're amazing as cookies go. All Sam needs to do is taste them, love them, then be horrified when he finds Bucky made them. Subtle, perfect prank.

~

Sam sips his coffee, eying the plate. It's the tenth one. None of the others have contained anything suspicious. The guys at the lab even said they were really good, so Sam is tempted.

So very tempted.

Fine. He snatches one of the cookies, bites—

"Fucking sweet volcano of—"

They are delicious, almost as good as his Mom's.

He has this memory of her, from when he was small and happier. She was smiling that bright toothy smile that Sam got from her. It was winter, the kitchen window cracked open just enough to let in some fresh air. It was early morning and the apartment smelled like presents already, because Mom only baked at special occasions. But that morning she told him 'life's too short to wait for special days, so how about we make all days special ourselves.'

That was the day after she was diagnosed.

Sam swallows, running his fingers over the edge of the cookie. Every Saturday morning they had cookies for breakfast, shaped like all the possible things Sam could imagine. Dragons and birds and puppies. The one in Sam's hand now almost looks like a misshapen wing and the corner of Sam's mouth lifts bitterly.

He wipes at his cheek. Mom lived for much longer than the doctors said she would and Sam always liked to believe it was because of the cookies.

"Whoever did this," Sam tells the empty kitchen, "thank you. So much. This is the nicest thing someone did for me in a long time."

~

Bucky ducks quickly under the kitchen window, heart pumping rapidly in his chest.

What the hell should he do now?

~

Bucky bakes more cookies and plans a different prank. For some reason taking the treats to Sam's every couple of days is something he doesn't want to share with anyone. He hides nearby and watches Sam enjoy them. Without fail, Sam adores them and speaks to a memory of someone who used to bake cookies for him. In the following weeks Bucky discovers it's Sam's late mother who did that. Bucky's own Ma made a mean pie, Becka used to like it more than Bucky did, and sitting there as an observer to Sam's memories, makes Bucky feel a bit more like a person that has a past and a future.

Too bad Sam still hates him, otherwise he'd—he'd—what...?

He started with a prank, continued as a misguided attempt at giving Sam something nice—instead of ripping the wings off his back for instance—and now Bucky is only doing it to see Sam smile.

~

Sam rubs at his face. He's tired, so fucking tired. The last mission was full of explosions and fire and Sam almost fell into a blazing abyss. It has brought forth a special brand of night terrors since he and Steve returned and Sam's been taking a few days off as he waits for them to go back into the fresh hell they belong.

At least he can have some fresh cookies for breakfast. The last batch appeared three days ago and Sam finished them yesterday, so he's expecting more to be there on the counter when he ambles into the kitchen.

The place, however, is undisturbed. No cookies.

With a sigh, Sam makes himself some coffee and sits down with a mug at the counter watching the empty space. Did his elusive baker grow tired of feeding Sam?

Sam's been reluctant in trying to find out who it really is. It's been nice to be cared about without expectations and he fears that if he discovers who the person is, they'll stop.

Today, the lack of cookies makes him fetch a notepad and pencil from a drawer. He refills his coffee, yawns in his fist, and writes down the names of those with the skills to do this, then crosses them off one by one.

Steve can't cook to save his life. Clint is even worse than Steve at cooking, so they're out. Nat's been on missions in several instances that cookies appeared, so not her either. Rhodes cooks, but only soup. Wanda? Nah, she and Vision are learning to mind the privacy of others, Steve's been keeping them busy. Tony? Oh, dear. It can't be Tony, he's rarely here. Sam scratches him off. The little ant guy? Sam snorts at himself and rolls his eyes at the paper. Maybe it's Fury himself. Sam draws little flowers over the U, then strikes the whole list. 

He's so tired.

Maybe he should close his eyes for a moment. He leans onto the counter, head on his bent arm.

~

There's warmth around him and a gentle hand patting his head. Something smells really nice, not as nice as the usual cookies, but enough to make Sam want to taste whatever it is.

This feels too good and for a few moments Sam remains unmoving from his slump over the counter, even though its edge pokes into his side and his arm's asleep. Whoever it is that's here smells of gunpowder and general fighting nastiness. Who was supposed to return from a mission? Sam's a little too sleepy to remember. The person moves, paper shuffles—

Then the touch and presence disappear completely. Sam waits, but there's the telltale slide of the kitchen window as it closes and he forces his eyelids to open.

Outside, a figure stands, back to the room, a hand on the window sill. Sunlight glints off the metal—

What. Bucky?

Sam raises and rotates his shoulder, almost dislodging the blanket on his back. On the counter, there's a bag of pastries from his favorite place in the city, one he's been complaining he never gets to go to lately.

But Bucky? Bucky never even acknowledges Sam, and when he does, he always glares.

How the hell did Sam miss this?

~

Bucky gently closes the window before he starts walking, straight through, without minding the cameras anymore. His hand is shaking, the flesh one, and he doesn't know how to make it stop. Doesn't know why either.

Sam's list—Bucky never even made it on his stupid list.

He finds Clint right where he left him, in the locker room. They had a simple mission to ease Bucky back in, sniper support for a local SWAT team. They were supposed to return last night, but it went sideways and they got to get boots on the ground. It went well as fights go. Some wounded, no casualties, explosives dealer apprehended. He finds Clint there, only this time Steve has his tongue down his throat.

Bucky sighs and sits on the bench next to them, causing Clint to yelp, startled, and Steve to clear his throat as he straightens his shirt. The doughnuts Clint brought for Steve sit in their box on the other bench, one piece half eaten. There's sugar on Steve's chin, more of it on Clint's vest and for a fleeting moment Bucky tries to imagine how it got there, when he sees it—a smile, from Steve to Clint, much like the one Sam offers his cookies lately.

And that's just—that's—that smile has been sending Bucky's heart into a frenzy in his chest, and Bucky's been mistakenly explaining it by an increase in adrenalin.

"I might be sweet on Sam," he concludes, out loud.

Clint smacks his shoulder and Steve grins.

"Congrats, man," Clint says, then takes one of the doughnuts.

Bucky snatches one for himself, to give his mouth something to do while he thinks of how to explain that Sam hates him.

"You gonna finally ask him out?" Steve asks.

Bucky shoves the entire doughnut in his mouth. It's hard to chew, but he's never been a quitter. Doughnut. What a word. A nut made of dough, greasy and sugary and deep fried. There's movement as Steve crouches in front of him, face worried and a sigh.

"Buck," Steve says.

"Nhm," Bucky tells him. "Uh, hngh hm."

"He doesn't," Clint says. Bucky frowns.

"Hm, hgh heeph egh."

"No, really, he glares almost as much as you do," Clint counters, "at all the things. If I think about it, you're perfect for each other. Sarcastic, discontent, snarky, sarcastic."

"Little shits," Steve adds.

Clint tuts. "You two are the shits, Sam's a great guy."

Steve scoffs, mock offended.

It takes a little bit of effort, but Bucky manages to swallow. "So what do I do?"

"What do you want from him?" Clint asks.

Bucky doesn't really know, so he shrugs.

"Do you wanna hold his hand, lick his abs, kiss his stupid face?"

"Uh..." Bucky scratches his head. "Maybe—uh, yeah—" he clears his throat, "yeah."

Wow, he wants to—yeah.

~

Sam stands very very still, trying not to make a sound. He's even slowing his breaths, wondering if his ears are working correctly or not. He has followed Bucky to the locker room and now—now Sam has overheard more than he was prepared to know.

So Bucky likes him?

This is unbelievable and Sam is lost, so he sneaks back out.

By the time he's back home, one thing is clear to Sam. He has absolutely no idea what do about this, no clue on how to proceed, no inkling to whether he likes Bucky like that.

Maybe he misheard.

~

It is true that no matter how much Bucky tries, he's not that smooth fucker he used to be. Steve says it's expected, but Bucky's seen that sad tint in his eyes. Clint, on the other hand, has been helping him practice. Things aren't going well.

And to avoid running into Sam again he has put his incursions into his house on hold for now, at least until he can figure out what to say to him.

~

There are no more cookies in his kitchen, but there are the same delicious wonders in the Avengers common break area, the one that's easily reached from all their rooms inside the facility. It's making Sam sleep here more than he does in his assigned minimalistic house.

It's kinda tramping on his style, but really, he cannot stay away from the cookies. He's been waking to them for the past three months, Sam is weak against them. And now the asshole had to stop bringing them to Sam. Instead he's giving them to everyone and Sam can't believe himself when he realizes he's plotting on how to steal the cookies before anyone sees them.

They're his cookies, dammit.

How dare they love them as much as Sam loves Buck—

Sam chokes on his own spit so hard, that Nat almost sends him to medical.

~

Sam has heard of people falling in love at first sight. He's heard of people being utterly smitten with each other only a few weeks after meeting. His parents met in highschool, kissed an hour later, and remained together for as long as death let them. His Dad died when Sam was too little to remember, but Mom told the story so many times, Sam knows it by heart.

So it's not entirely too surprising to discover his sudden feelings for Bucky.

But Sam is shocked nonetheless.

Especially since he still has no clue on how to proceed. He does think, however, that they should have a talk. If Bucky does like him, and Sam of course likes him back—yes, holding of hands included—then there's no use in wasting time.

However, maybe Bucky doesn't want to try for a relationship, considering what he's been through, and maybe Sam did misunderstand. So he decides to start a conversation, but let Bucky make the first step. Open up, let Bucky know he's interested, but not put himself entirely out there to get hurt.

He's had enough hurt.

He gets a chance when everyone's off doing whatever it is they're doing, and it's just him and Bucky in the break room, watching the history channel.

"I know it's you who brought me all those cookies," Sam says.

At the other end of the long sofa, Bucky tenses so fast, it's almost visible. A few seconds pass, before Bucky sinks further into the backrest and grunts noncommittally.

"They're really good, man, thanks," Sam adds.

Another half bitten sound follows, but this time Bucky's watching Sam from the corner of his eye.

"But," Sam continues, nervous butterflies filling his belly, "I keep wondering why." All right, fine, Sam's more insecure than he'd like to admit, but he's allowed. Nobody's perfect. "What do you want from me?"

Bucky turns his head slowly, eyes piercing as he studies Sam.

~

Heck, hell, and fuck. What should Bucky say? His pulse increases, and Bucky puts a lot of effort into keeping his composure. He practiced this, with Clint. What did Clint say? Yeah, he wants to kiss his stupid face and hold his hand and—

"I want to lick your abs."

Sam's jaw drops in slow motion.

Nope. Bucky stands, rounds the sofa, and walks out. This did not just happen. Not one bit.

~

So that went well. Sam is left staring at the wall for a very long time. But he did nothing wrong, said nothing weird, and when Bucky's words start making sense in his head, he laughs. Bucky likes him back. How deep this like goes, though, and if a relationship is possible, is still undetermined, but Sam has hope.

Four days later and Sam can't find Bucky. The cookies are still appearing when nobody's looking, so Bucky's still on the premises somewhere.

Hiding.

Sam might not be the best at facing his own issues, but this level of avoidance is something else. Sure, if he were in Bucky's shoes he'd probably be doing the same thing right now. His best source of information is Steve, who, after some convincing, tells Sam where to find Bucky. Sam's not too sure he hasn't promised his first born during that conversation, either.

Turns out that Bucky's been baking in a kitchenette with an oven on the other side of the facility, in an unused break room. Stark did build this thing too large.

"Hey," Sam says as he stands in the middle of the open space across the counter. He's pretty sure Bucky's heard him since he stepped out of the elevator, but Bucky's not paying him any mind as he measures flour and cracks eggs. "So, um," Sam starts, scratching his nose. "Those cookies you made—I mean—Mom used to make cookies all the time."

Bucky pauses as he turns from the fridge with a carton of milk in his hand, frowns at the floor, then continues his tasks.

"You figured that out," Sam concludes.

A glance, even though short, is followed by a nod, and it makes Sam smile, warmed.

"They're not exactly the same cookies, you know, but still absolutely amazing. You've got some skill, man."

"Thanks," Bucky mutters.

"Mom never shared her recipe with anyone," Sam continues, walking closer, then lifts the sealed envelope he's been carrying. "She gave it to me, it's right here, but she made me promise not to share unless I meet someone worthy of it. Partner, friend, lover, whoever it is, has to make it justice. So I thought you might wanna try it."

The fork Bucky's been using to mix something flies from his hand and lands with a clatter across the room.

His wide eyes would be comical if Sam's belly wouldn't squirm with how utter Bucky's surprise is. Sam knows the feeling; when the world brings you down, it's the small things that remind of one's worth.

Little by little, Bucky's surprise dissipates as understanding takes its place and Sam's heart pounds against his ribs.

"Could that person," Bucky rasps, "be all three at the same time?"

Sam's grin is uncontainable. "I was hoping for that."

~

Bucky bites his lip, watching Sam. They've opened the envelope and prepared the batter together. Well, more Bucky than Sam, but the entire thing felt like a wondrous dance, like a perfect mission. Smooth, nice.

Now they're waiting for the oven to ping. Sam's sitting on the counter, poking at his phone, looking at Bucky from time to time. Maybe he's just as unsure about what to say next as Bucky is.

He came here with an offering that must have been a big decision on his part. Bucky has to keep reminding himself that yes, Sam likes him. Sam doesn't hate him. And judging by the smile he gives Bucky, he's not playing a prank himself.

Sam was braver than Bucky, so Bucky should make the next step.

He walks over, eases the phone from Sam's fingers and is pleased when Sam rests his hands on Bucky's shoulders. He raises an eyebrow, questioning, and Bucky tilts his head.

Why is talking so hard—

Oh, because of lips. Yeah, Sam's lips. Bucky kisses back, his stomach flipping pleasantly, Sam's hands in his hair, but Sam breaks it too soon.

"Before we continue, I just wanna say," Sam whispers and Bucky's heart speeds in his chest, "that my abs are fucking ticklish and if you try to lick them you're probably gonna end up with a broken nose or something."

Wha—the laughter that bubbles out of Bucky is as loud as it's sudden. In no time his eyes are leaking, and he has to hold onto a grinning Sam to keep standing.

"Yeah," Sam says as he wraps his arms around Bucky, "that's right."

He presses a kiss on Bucky's temple and it's the best thing.

After Sam's Mom's cookies. Those are magnificent.

~

Clint lies on the bed, arms under his head, legs outstretched under the sheet, smirking, waiting. Steve shakes his head at him, but turns the music on.

"Come on, Rogers," Clint says. "I won."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve mutters, then starts undulating his hips.

He smiles at himself as he turns. Despite his grumbling, he's been actually looking forward to this. It's been so much fun to research stripping, all the clips very informative, and now Steve wants to see how bothered he can get Clint.

Clearly he already likes it, the sheet covering Clint not leaving much to imagination as Steve unbuttons his shirt.

"I can't believe you pulled it off," he says as he flicks his own nipple.

Clint whines a little. "I told you I could make Bucky bake."

"But the whole Sam thing?"

"Nat called that," Clint returns.

"Did she," Steve replies, then licks his lips as he unbuttons his slacks. Clint licks his in tandem.

"Yeah," Clint breathes. "She also says Tony might be having a crush on—"

"Could you stop talking about other guys when I'm baring my ass for you?"

"You're right, come here and let me love you."

"Sir, yessir," Steve salutes with a grin, then jumps on the bed.

Clint catches him, flips them around. He never treats Steve like a legend, never looks at him like he's high on a pedestal. With Clint, he's human and flawed and loved for it.

He hopes Bucky and Sam can find the same balance.

Same peace of mind.

~End~


End file.
